A Hero of War
by kbelle720
Summary: Set back in the Vietnam war, Punk and John, who have already battled enough for being gay in such a conservative time, face their toughest challenge yet when John has to leave for his deployment. *Major character death*


**This is a little drabble I did off a prompt from a roleplay that I was previously part of. I thought the prompt was perfect, given John's massive support for the military and just... Ugh. Feels. I hope you all enjoy. Please don't kill me.**

**Disclaimer: Neither of the characters in this story or mine, nor do I know either man personally. In other words. I DON'T REALLY KNOW SHIT.  
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Fuck the war. Fuck the war and fuck these intolerant bastards that kept telling him he had no right to military spouse benefits. John was his husband for fuck's sake. Even if the government wouldn't recognize them as such. They were partners in crime, soul mates, best friends. John was his everything. And now… Now they were being torn apart.

"You can't."

"Phil. I don't have a choice."

"No, you're not listening to me. You CAN'T."

"Baby, I know that you're scared, but—"

"NO."

"Phil—"

"I SAID NO, JOHN!"

The normally carefully kept mask that was Phil Brooks' face slipped. As his voice rose, it broke and his jaw clenched with the effort of holding back unshed tears. Men did not cry. That's what his father had taught him. But he'd left when Phil was still young. Just like John was leaving now…

The man in question walked forward and wrapped two strong arms around the smaller man who pushed weakly against him in response. "You can't…"

John let out a soft sigh, resting his cheek on top of his husband's head. "I don't have a choice." He repeated for what must have been the millionth time since he'd enlisted into the military. "I took an oath. It's done. It's over already. I have to go."

"I told you to stay out of it…" Phil breathed the words into the crisply pressed uniform that his cheek was rested against. "I told you not to be an idiot…"

The larger of the two men grabbed both of Phil's hands in his, lacing their fingers together. "And I told you that if I didn't do it myself, they would draft me. You know that." John told him, voice calm. How was his voice always so damn calm?

"But you could have waited!" Gripping onto the other's hands like a lifeline, Phil pulled back to look up the few inches into those shocking blue eyes. "You could have waited. They'd have drafted you and—and maybe it'd have been late enough that you wouldn't have had to go…" Unlikely. Highly unlikely, and the tattooed man knew it, but what was he supposed to use as an excuse. He certainly wouldn't admit to being scared. But in all reality, scared didn't begin to cover it.

Terrified. He was terrified. The thought of John being out in the middle of all the insanity that they'd seen on television... 'This war is unwinnable'. The words of the journalist rang heavily in his ears. The war was unwinnable. And John was going to fight in it. Right in the fucking middle of it.

Strong hands cupped his face and he blinked blurrily up at him, swallowing back tears, fighting his tightening throat. "John…"

"I'll be home before you know it."

"Unless you get blown up."

"Hey." John pulled his chin upwards with a finger until their eyes locked. "Don't think like that. You'll drive yourself crazy thinking like that…"

He choked. Finally a soft sob bubbled up and Phil squeezed out the words he'd been so loath to admit in their month long wait for John to be called away. "I'm gonna go crazy without you here… Th-thinking about you out there with the bombs and-and the bullets and… John, you can't…"

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't afraid. John was worried. He'd heard the same stories, seen the same footage of the war. And he was about to step out into it. Willingly. They'd never call on Phil. He had too many respiratory problems after having pneumonia for half the year last year. He was in this alone. But seeing his husband in this state, he knew he had to hold it together. And he did. As best he could. "I'll be home before you know it." He said again, voice firm. "And when I get back we'll move outta here. Go back to Chicago just like you always wanted. We'll get a house and that little dog you keep talking about and then…"

"We're not getting a baby, John. They won't let us."

"Someday…" He said softly, rubbing a thumb lightly over Phil's cheek and leaning to kiss his forehead, a bare brush of lips against skin. "Someday we'll have a family. We'll be happy and healthy and grow old together just like we said…" he whispered.

"If you're here to grow old with…" His words were barely more than a breath, his entire frame trembling now.

"I will be." John pulled back to look at him, leaning just a bit so that their eyes were level. "I will come back. I will come back and I will be fine and you will be waiting here for me." His tone was firm and somehow sure. He would come back. He had to. For Phil. For their future. Letting go of his husband's face, he pulled a set of dog tags from beneath the snuggly fit collar of his uniform and pulled them over his head, kissing each of them before taking Phil's hand. Placing the tags in the center of his palm, he coiled the chain over top and closed the inked fingers over them before kissing the man's knuckles gently.

The smaller of the two men blinked at his hand slowly, silent tears spilling down his cheeks. "You need these…"

"I'll come back for them."

It dawned on him what his husband was doing and Phil choked out, "I'll hold you to that…"

"That's what I'm hoping for. You gotta make an honest man outta me." John gave him a small smile, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall. "…Gotta get to the train, punk…" He whispered, ruffling the man's hair though his heart was sinking.

"Can I go with you…?"

"Thought we decided that wasn't a good idea."

Phil nodded slowly. He knew it wasn't. There was no need for both of them to get jeered at. Or worse. "Then this is goodbye…?"

"No. No. Not goodbye." John pulled him in for a tight embrace. "Goodbyes are permanent. This isn't."

"But—"

"No, Phil. For once, let me have the last word."

He nodded, leaning into the kiss that was delivered to him, vowing to memorize his husband's lips, to make a mental recording of John's voice as he mumbled against his mouth. "I love you."

"I love you too…"

It was too soon that John pulled away from him, picked up his bag, put on his hat and walked to the door, only stopping to turn back around, standing at attention and giving his now weeping husband a firm salute. "Soon."

It was the last word he heard. The one word Phil played over and over in his head.

His heart walked out the door that day. His everything. The one thing he'd cherished more than anything else in the world. His John. He never heard his voice again. Never looked into shocking blue eyes again. Never had the house in Chicago, the dog or the children. No. There was never a "soon". And, because of John's insistence, there was never a goodbye.

His everything walked out the door that day, leaving him alone in the rundown apartment in the middle of Boston, Massachusetts. His everything left him to see the end of the war. Alone.

Fuck the war.


End file.
